Wed., April 6, 2005, 12:50 p.m.
I haven't written in a while so I'm going to write about the party I went to Saturday night, because I was just looking at the photos. As a preface to this story you need to know about a certain Saturday night 3 weeks ago ...
We had free passes so we went to La Paloma, a famous club in BCN. This place is intense - it is seriously like going clubbing in the set of Phantom of the Opera or Moulin Rouge; there are velvet chairs and a stage with a huge velvet curtain in the background, golden ornate architecture and two balconies overlooking it on either side. Just keep this background in mind, ok? So, when we get there around 1:30, there's a band on stage playing Latino music. And there are all these old people exiting while we're entering. Now you must also understand that the crowd at La Paloma for the changeover is weird; there are still some old people who have stayed until the band leaves; that night there were big groups of "stag" and "hen" parties (that's British for bachelor and bachelorette parties); and then there are the clubbers like us who are just there early.
So the band is three women in sequin dresses and a guy in a white suit (vegas style), and after playing some (bad) salsa and merengue complete with set dance moves, they start up with (I am not kidding) SKYNNARD. I swear to god, American country music with a bad Spanish accent; it was SO weird. Meanwhile, this guy from Ghana wearing lots of bling is hitting on me and we've randomly run into some Italian friends of friends. The night is getting progressively weirder. Around 2:30 or 3am, the 'changeover' happens at La Paloma. The band leaves and the DJ arrives. Ah yes, the DJ. Now, you must understand that BCN is not on the "circuit" for bands to play here. Madrid is, but BCN is too far out of the way, which means there are very few live concerts, which means DJs are very respected here. Anyway so the DJ starts, and you can tell because not only is the music different, but they have DEIFIED him. It's so weird. they put the DJ up on a pedastal-like thing at the front of the room, with weird lighting (he's the only thing that's lit in the room, really). So now we have: a room out of Moulin rouge, in which British schoolboys, guys from Ghana with big gold chains and American basketball jerseys, old Spanish couples in shawls and pumps, and tourists from probably every country you can imagine, all bobbing along to weird electronica mixed by a DJ-God. Nicole and I are like, "We're out of here," and just as we turn to leave, who do we see sitting on one of the velvet chairs on the side of the room? TWO AMISH MEN. It truly perfected the evening.
Then, three weeks later, (last Saturday night), we go to a house party for one of our friends, and when we walk in Nicole turns to me and says, "You're not going to believe who's here. The AMISH GUYS."
So apparently, they're not Amish, as much as they may appear that way to us. It turns out that they're Germans on a very specific 3-year journey. They are craftsmen, of a sort; they work on wooden boats and roofs, and they are fed and housed by those they work for, but they cannot accept any payment. Apparently it's a traditional thing to do for some Germans, I'm not sure if it's passed down through families or what, but there were like 3 or 4 of them there. Don't worry: I have photos.
Language spot:
The phrase, "He wouldn't hurt a fly," is the same in Spanish. Know why? Because it's the last line in Psycho. "No matarķa una mosca." Before Psycho came out, it didn't exist in Spanish, and now people say it .... way to go Hitchcock!
